


on and on and on

by northerndavvn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, i am a disgusting kanders shipper don't look at me, look another drabble collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:58:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northerndavvn/pseuds/northerndavvn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl Thekla was a complicated man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fool's dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really shitty, sorry. i'm writing to distract myself more than anything.

They could never be normal, no matter how much they tried.

In the dark of night they could hold each other and breathe and pretend, but come morning they would never be anyone but Karl and Anders. in the end, they would always be caged, confined, less than people. 

Anders remembers more of his life before the Circle than Karl, and enjoys regaling him with stories of his childhood, when no one else is around. Karl doesn't mind- he likes watching Anders' face light up, likes watching the passion in his eyes, the innocence in every move he makes. It reminds him why he fell in love with him. And yet...

And yet.

Karl didn't want to watch him break, didn't want to see the hope gone from his eyes, didn't want to see the familiar, world-weary expression on his face. Kinloch Hold was a dark place, and Anders was his one shining light. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt; for the first time, one of karl's apprentices is sentenced to the rite of tranquility

He hadn’t been that old the first time it happened.

Only three or four years past his Harrowing; twenty-one, twenty-two years old. He hadn’t started teaching lessons of his own, yet, but often he sat in on them when he had nothing else to do, more than happy help apprentices with new spells. He _liked_ it, found a sort of spiritual fulfillment in seeing the joy on their faces when they accomplished something they hadn’t been able to do the day before.

At this point he was still optimistic, unsullied, for the most part- the weariness would come later. He didn’t believe that any of them would be capable of blood magic; they were all such eager, earnest students. Why would they condemn themselves by fraternizing with demons?

There was a little elf in one of the entropy classes he often sat in on. He’d watch as her face contorted in frustrated concentration when she couldn’t accomplish the same as her peers, and he’d pull her aside after classes and attempt to tutor her, though he was not all that good with entropy magic, himself.

She had been a clever little thing, sharp-tongued and quick-witted, her eyes bright with hope. She wanted to be a court mage, she’d told him. She wanted to travel, to see the world, to serve under some bann or arl or even a teyrn, to taste fresh air. Her difficulties in entropy carried over to all other branches of magic as well, he’d learned, and his blood had run cold the first time he had caught a glimpse of the bandages on her arms.

"Please," he’d begged, hoping beyond all hope. "Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like."

She hadn’t spoken, but yanked away from his touch with a flinch.

"If it’s just," he pauses here, swallows thickly, "if it’s just hurting yourself for the sake of hurting yourself, then okay. I can- you can get help, dear, you’re not alone, there’s people to listen. But if it’s blood magic-"

Her dusky skin had gone ashen, then, dark eyes widening with something like fear. “It’s not!”

It was.

He didn’t press the subject, though, and maybe that was one of his biggest regrets. That he didn’t try to help her, didn’t try to stop her- it could have been avoided. Such a _waste._

Their lessons continue as normal, if not more reserved than before, until one day she is gone. He doesn’t question it, feeling as if a pit had opened in his stomach, going about his day to day routine gnawed with worry.

"Delilah?"  
  
"Good morning, Enchanter." Her voice grated on his ears, flat and without inflection. "How may I help you?"


	3. the way the universe works

It’s hard to remember those few moments.

A knife in his hand-

_i’ll set you free, love-_

_they’ll never take another-_

they will pay.

His rage comes forth like a tangible thing, blue and burning, and his entire world is fire. There is no fluidity to his movements, every shift sharp and angry, his fingers clenching into a white-knuckled grip around his staff.

They will pay.

He had loved him as much as he was able, but it wasn’t enough, never enough to convince him to run away with him-

_let’s be fugitives together, sweetheart-_

or to go back for him and maybe that wasn’t love, maybe it was just him clinging to the familiar, clinging to what had made him feel normal, but it was as close to love as he was going to get and now it was gone and for once in his life, he let himself go.

Later, he will break down into choked, breathless sobs about what was and what could have been and what now will never be. He cries until his throat his raw and his tongue is swollen and his eyes are dry, until he is sure that he has no more tears left, and he swears that he will never cry again.

It’s a promise that’s been made before.


	4. for the dreaming

It wasn’t the right time.

It was never the right time, really; there was always the lurking dread of being caught, of being made to carry on under the watchful eyes of a templar or, worse, made to perform on one. It was always rushed and wild and stiflingly  _quiet,_ something that drove him crazy each and every time.

Karl didn’t want that, quick and messy. He wanted slow and languid, sweet kisses and breathless laughter, soft touches full of warmth.

He wanted to hear Anders’ voice, rough with need; his name spoken against the skin between his shoulder blades like a prayer to an ancient god, tasting sweat on his tongue, every breath an exultation. He wanted to taste the salt of his sweat and the foreign, lemony flavor that was uniquely  _Anders._

In the end, he wanted a lot of things.


End file.
